


International Dickplomacy

by sphekso



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Justin, Biting, FUCK, Hung Obama, M/M, Oral Sex, Sorry Michelle, Sorry Sophie, What the fuck have I done?, sorry everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphekso/pseuds/sphekso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>US President Barack Obama arrives in Canada for a state visit, and PM Justin Trudeau has an idea of how they can kill some time... Hardcore sex on a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	International Dickplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> I humbly apologize for this fic's title. That said... enjoy as best you can?

The blast from Marine One’s rotors buffeted Justin’s tie over his shoulder. Worse still, it made a ferocious mess of his hair. He made his best attempt to smooth it back into place as the helicopter’s blades spun down and its stairs dropped to the ground.

His heart gave a little leap when a man appeared at the top of the stairway, but relaxed after realizing it was only a Secret Service agent. “ _Be cool, Trudeau_ ,” he said under his breath. It was audible, but his security people didn’t react. They were used to him by now. “ _It’s just… It’s just the President_.” He swallowed hard and ran his hand over his hair one more time.

President Obama himself finally descended the steps of Marine One, grinning in a way that sent shivers through Justin’s loins. _“Not now, Trudeau_ ,” he grumbled through his teeth.

Obama made his way across the lawn to meet him. Justin realized a little too late that his expression was one of stunned awe, and quickly adjusted it to a pleasant smile. He hoped it wasn’t too wide. He didn’t want to give himself away.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” Obama greeted, extending his hand.

Justin’s eyes went wide. Obama had the most perfect hands he’d ever seen. His fingers so long and delicate, fingernails perfectly manicured, and they looked _soft_ , too. Could he even touch a hand like that? Did he deserve the honor?

“Mr. Prime Minister?”

“Mr. President…? Oh!” Justin mentally cursed himself and reached out to take Obama’s hand. And oh, God help him, it was softer than he had even imagined. It was so soft it reminded him of the comforting touch of the velvet bunny he’d had as a child. He missed that bunny. One time he’d taken it on a proper adventure through the woods and pretended he was Christopher Robin and the bunny was Pooh, and they’d stayed out so late his father had—

“You’re meant to _shake_ my hand, you know,” Obama said, snapping Justin away from his thoughts of bunnies. “Not cling to it.”

Justin blushed hard, but Obama wasn’t taken aback. He had kind eyes, just like Justin had always thought he would. He’d seemed like such a gentle man on TV, and he’d always…. He winced as his thoughts ran away with him again and finally shook the Obama’s hand. The President removed his, but Justin’s traveled with it a little. He didn’t want to let go of the other man’s smooth, velvety hand, but he did drop it before the show became too embarrassing. “Welcome to Canada, Mr. President,” Justin said as powerfully as he could. It still came out a little boyish and shaky.

“Please,” Obama said, his voice like honey, “call me Barack.”

“B-Barack?” Justin stammered. Just _saying_ the President’s first name set him into a fit of warmth, so he answered with, “I’d rather stick to formalities. You know, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

He was so damned _magnanimous_. Justin could barely keep his emotions in check.

“How was your visit with Chancellor Merkel?” Obama asked as they walked alongside each other toward the Parliament Building.

“Chancellor… Oh! Oh, it was fine. We talked about… things.”

“You seem nervous,” Obama said.

Justin stared at his leather shoes as they moved over the pavement. “Well… You _are_ the President of the United States…”

“And you’re the Prime Minister of Canada. We’re not celebrities to each other.”

Justin looked up to him and forced a smile. “You make a lot of sense, Mr. President. No wonder you’re so well liked.”

Obama laughed. Justin thought it sounded like chimes. “I think your approval ratings are much higher than mine, Mr. Trudeau. May I call you that? Mr. Trudeau?”

“You can call me anything,” Justin said, perhaps a little too dreamily.

Obama raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

Their shoes echoed on the floor as they entered Parliament proper.

“What do you have planned for us?” Obama asked. “You requested I arrive early.”

“I, uh…” Justin tugged at his collar. “I thought we could share a meal. To, ah, solidify our nations’ friendship.”

Obama’s eyebrow went up again. “A meal? Well, I am a bit hungry. Let’s be careful not to stain our ties, hmm?”

“I had steaks prepared,” Justin said, leading them and their attachés down a corridor. “I hope you like red meat.”

“Oh,” Obama said, “I very much enjoy _meat_.”

Justin almost gasped, but he managed to keep himself under control. But the way he said the word _meat_ … “ _Calm_ ,” he muttered.

“Calm?” Obama asked.

Justin’s eyes shot open. He’d heard him, and he wasn’t used to Justin’s habits like his own people were. “I, ah…” He gulped and smiled again. “We’re here.”

Obama nodded and filed into the small room with his bodyguards close behind. He looked around the chamber: Bare, except for a single table and two chairs. “This is fancy,” he observed.

“I just thought it might be safer—“ Justin began quickly.

Obama held up his hand to stop him. “I understand. You don’t want the public to know we’re having an unofficial get-together.” He glanced at his wrist. “We have a lot of time on our hands. Why don’t we eat later? We can get to know each other a little first.”

“Get to know each other…” Justin trailed off. “I’d like that.”

“So, two chairs? I suppose Sophie won’t be joining us.” The President lowered himself into one of them, all sturdy wood and harsh angles.

“My wife? No, of course not. I want us to—“

Obama held up his hand again. “Say no more. I know how it is. Men are meant to behave a certain way around women. It’s nice having a break every now and then.”

_Behave…_ Justin chewed on what the President meant by that as he settled into his chair. “Er, so,” he said awkwardly, “you wanted to chat before the meal?”

“If we were to have a casual lunch in Washington I don’t think I’d invite Michelle, either,” Obama said, continuing his line of thought. “Sometimes two young men simply need to cut loose.” He paused. “Young men… That’s not quite right. _You’re_ a young man, but I’m not, not anymore. It’s been a long presidency, I’ll tell you that.”

“You’re still young!” Justin protested. “You’re only ten years older than I am! The gap isn’t… It’s not too wide, is it?”

Obama regarded him curiously. “Too wide for what?”

Justin’s face _burned_. He couldn’t believe what he’d said. Couldn’t believe what he’d been _thinking_. “Uhh…” was all he could get out.

“I make you nervous, don’t I? Chin up, Mr. Trudeau. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re a world leader. Like I said, world leaders don’t have to be nervous around each other.”

“It’s just… You’re a bit of a hero of mine, and…” Justin looked around the room. “It’s kind of packed in here, isn’t it? Lots of security.”

“You’re right,” Obama said. “It’s making it a little _hot_ , isn’t it?”

Again, the way he said _hot_ … Fuck, what was he thinking? This was the President of the United States of America! He had to calm down, and fast. “Ah, it _is_ warm if that’s what you mean. Lots of b-bodies in one… In one place.”

“Why don’t we dismiss everyone?” Obama asked matter-of-factly, as if that wasn’t one of the craziest things the leader of the free world could suggest.

“ _Everyone_?” Justin asked. “Bodyguards, too?”

“Bodyguards, too,” Obama agreed. “But only if you send yours away as well.”

“ _What is—“_ Justin began to whisper, but remembered to clamp down on the habit before he could get any further with it. He was sweating pretty profusely now, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “Sure, then,” he said. “Leave us alone, would you?” he asked his people. They all clearly meant to argue, but it _was_ an order, so they left along with the President’s detail.

“Finally alone,” Obama said.

“Y-yeah,” Justin returned. He was trying so hard to stay calm, so hard to be _cool_ , but in the end he knew he was only making a fool of himself. This whole casual meal thing had been a terrible idea. With absolutely any other leader he could’ve maintained complete composure, but this was _Barack Obama_.

“You’ve been acting strangely, Mr. Trudeau.” Obama set his elbows on the table and leaned closer to Justin. “And this room, this meal… It was designed to get me alone, wasn’t it?”

Justin whimpered a little. He hoped to Christ it wasn’t audible.

“That’s why you didn’t bring Sophie. You wanted it to be _me…_ ” he pointed to himself, “and _you_ ,” he pointed to Justin. “Tell me, why does the Prime Minister of Canada want under the radar face-time with little old me?”

Sweat dripped down Justin’s brow. He couldn’t come up with a good enough answer—or any answer at all—so he just sat there staring at the table, until…

“You’re all sweaty,” Obama said. Before Justin realized what was happening, the other man had leaned forward, reached across the table, grasped his tie, and used it to blot his forehead for him. He dropped the tie, but didn’t lean back into his seat. Their faces were inches apart. Justin could feel Obama’s breath against his lips. “Justin?” Obama asked, dispensing with titles altogether.

Justin felt weak hearing Obama say his name. His lids fluttered shut for a moment as if he expected a kiss—but no, this wasn’t a silly romance movie. He opened them again to find Obama gazing at him deeply.

“You look breathless,” Obama said.

“You, ah…” Justin paused until he realized he just couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t a bumbling idiot. He didn’t stumble over his words, or blush, or sweat in stressful situations. He was the fucking Prime Minister. But the man across from him—stripped of all titles, just a human being named Barack Obama—made him do all those things. He knew those things needed to stop happening, and the only way for them to stop happening was to give up and walk everything back. “Listen, Mr. President,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but it’s not—“

“Justin, please,” Obama said with a theatrical roll of his eyes. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I can tell when a man is interested in me.”

Justin shot bolt upright. _When a man…?_ “I’m not—“

“There’s no need to pretend,” Obama said. “You’re a good looking fella. I have to say I’ve been looking forward to this trip. Maybe not as much as you have, but I’ve been dreaming about… certain things.”

The idea of walking things back didn’t seem so attractive anymore. “Certain things?”

“Mhmm. Things that never could’ve happened if you hadn’t set up this little get-together. So…” Obama leaned ever so slightly closer until their lips nearly met. “Let me examine your oratory skills.”

Justin’s eyes closed again, this time truly in anticipation of a kiss, but none came. Fresh air rushed to his face and he realized Obama had moved away from him. He heard a _ziiiiip_ just as he opened his eyes. Before he could blink again, Obama’s trousers were around his ankles. “I thought… I thought you wanted to kiss me,” Justin said, not quite comprehending what was going on.

“That’s not what I meant by _examining your oration_.” He palmed at the front of his white boxers. They were bulging out a little too far for him to be completely soft inside.

“You want me to s…s…suck your….”

“Get over here,” Obama ordered.

Justin rounded the table. Obama pointed to the floor, and like a dutiful puppy, Justin dropped to his knees.

“Thank you, Justin,” Obama said. “You’re good at following directions. I like that in a younger man. Now…” He stroked the back of Justin’s head as he looked up at him. “You have soft hair,” he noted.

“You have soft hands,” Justin replied in a stronger voice. He was beginning to feel more confident about the situation now that there was no question where things were headed.

“You like my hands?” Obama cradled Justin’s right cheek with his left hand while he went on stroking his hair with his right.

“Very much so,” Justin said, nuzzling into Obama’s smooth palm.

“You know what I like? Your lips.”

Fire stirred in Justin’s chest at that. He didn’t blush—not anymore—instead he felt _hungry_. And not for their steak lunch, either.

“I’ve liked your lips since the first time I saw you on TV. I said to Michelle, ‘Honey, wouldn’t that man give a good blowjob?’”

Now _that_ shocked Justin. “You said _what_?!”

Obama chuckled. “Relax, Justin. I’m joking. Dignitaries are allowed to joke, aren’t we?” He took his hand back from Justin’s cheek and slipped his fingers past his boxers’ waistband. “Do you know what’s in here?”

A twitch of a smirk tugged at Justin’s lips. “I think I do.”

“What should we call it?”

“ _Now we’re getting somewhere_ ,” Justin said, performing his under-his-breath trick and not caring if he was heard. “Surprise me.”

“Let’s say…” Obama pushed his boxers down slowly, exposing the thick root of his cock first, then further down, over his shaft, moving for such a long time that Justin thought he had to reach his head soon, _had to_ , but he didn’t, just kept pushing, until— _God, he finally did_. Obama had to be at least seven inches _soft_. Justin had never seen anything like it. “Like what you see?” Obama asked. He gripped its base between two fingers and wagged it a bit.

“It’s beautiful,” Justin said. “And shaved. I didn’t expect that, but… Good. Fuck, it’s perfect, Mr. Pre—“

“Uh uh uh!” Obama chided. “Call me Mr. President one more time and I pack up and leave. Not even a press conference. It’s Barack to you. Deal?”

Justin nodded. “All right then… Barack.”

“But back to our fun… What’s a good name? Let’s call it… How about my _stimulus package_.”

Justin couldn’t help but laugh. He tried to get himself under control, and wiped a tear from his eye as his laughter subsided. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s just…” He shook his head. “Your stimulus package. Fine. What do you want me to do with your stimulus package, _Barack_?”

“Sign it into law,” Obama said. “With your tongue.”

All the humor and laughter faded from Justin’s mind as he focused back on on Obama’s cock. He took it in his hand— _God_ , was it weighty—and leaned forward to taste it. His tongue met the middle of the shaft first, not a particularly sensitive area, but it still sent shivers through Obama’s body. He hissed out a sigh as Justin moved his tongue along his length, first up to the root, then down again, traveling ever so painfully slowly until he hit the head. He angled it up with his hand and circled it with his tongue a few times. Obama’s grip on the back of his head tightened.

“Do it,” Obama groaned.

“Y’know…” Justin began, “it’s not every day a man gets to taste the Pres—“

Obama abruptly cut Justin off by pressing his cock into his lips as he opened them to speak. He was more than half hard now, and at his rate of growth Justin couldn’t even imagine how massive he would be with a full erection. “Stop with the _President this, President that_ and just _work_.”

Justin replaced Obama’s hand on his cock with his own and worked it down along his length as he took him deeper and deeper down his throat.

“You don’t have a gag reflex? Jesus.”

Justin went farther down to prove it. He was proud of his talents as a cocksucker. It was a shame he hadn’t had a chance to put them to practice lately.

“Oh, God this is good. I haven’t gotten head since… Since law school.”

Justin pulled off to look him in the eye. “You mean…?”

“Michelle and I don’t… We don’t do this.”

“You mean never?”

Obama sighed. “I do. So this is a long time coming.” He let out a little moan as Justin went back down on him.

Justin was going in quick motions now—as quickly as he could, at least, given Obama’s massive length—swirling his tongue a bit over his cock as he sucked it up and down. He played with his heavy balls, too, which only drove Obama wilder.

“That’s it,” Obama said, and took a few steps back. Justin whined a little at the loss of his new toy. “I can’t take it.”

“Was I doing something wrong?” Justin asked coyly, completely sure he’d been nothing less than perfect.

“No,” Obama said, “I just need _more_. You’re driving me insane with that mouth of yours, but what I _really_ want is your ass.”

Justin clucked his tongue. “Who said I’d let you fuck me?”

“Justin Trudeau,” Obama said calmly, “I know you’re gonna let me.”

“You have a big stimulus package, Barack Obama,” Justin said. “I bet your senators never had the time to read it all.”

“Jokes aside, Justin. I’m serious. I’m going to fuck you.”

“Give me another euphemism and maybe— _maybe_ I’ll think about it.”

“Hmm…” Obama tapped at his chin. His cock jumped around with each tap. “Let’s say it’s election day.”

“Election day?”

“Mhmm. It’s election day, and I’m gonna put my _ballot_ …” he gripped his cock, “in your _box_.”

Justin grinned. “Well, Barack,” he said, “I think you’ve won me over.” He paused. “But this is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“It’ll hurt a lot,” Obama admitted. “At first. But then it’ll be nothing but smooth sailing.”

“I’m game for the smooth part,” Justin said.

“Get on the table.”

Justin hopped up and laid on his back, his legs dangling to the floor. He hadn’t even stopped to notice how hard he was, but his cock strained powerfully against the front of his khakis. He reached down for his zipper, but Obama batted his hands away.

“Let me,” he said. He popped open the top button and slowly took down the zipper. “Lift up.” Justin inched up so he could pull his khakis to the ground. He was wearing black boxer-briefs, and he thought he looked pretty damned sexy. From the look on his face, Obama agreed with him.

“What’s your next move, Barack?”

Obama didn’t say anything in return. He just smiled a devilish smile and rolled his palm against Justin’s straining erection. The thin cotton between them did little to dull the sensation. Every curve, every vein was apparent to Obama’s hand. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Justin’s bulge, sucking at it a bit just for fun.

Justin threw his arm over his eyes and let his head drop to the table. “God, you’re driving me insane.”

“Am I?” Obama asked, nipping lightly at Justin’s bulge. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Fuck me,” Justin said without hesitation. “I want you to fuck the daylights out of me. I want you to fuck me so hard I—“

Obama chuckled and said, “I get the picture, and I’m happy to oblige. Now let me just…” He hooked his thumbs under Justin’s waistband and yanked down his boxers. Justin’s cock thwacked up against his toned belly. “Nice,” Obama noted.

“It’s just average,” Justin said sheepishly.

“It’s pretty. I like it. But I’m not going to suck it.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Justin said. “Just—“

Obama pulled Justin’s legs over his shoulders in one swift motion, exposing his ass. “Just what?” Obama took his massive presidential cock in one hand and lined it up with Justin’s hole. He played around with it a little, slathering it in his pre-come, making Justin ache for more. “Just fuck you?”

“God, do it already,” Justin groaned.

Obama spat on his hand and lubed up his cock as best he could. He slipped one wet finger—then two—inside Justin to prepare him, but he didn’t wait long for his ass to open up. “You ready?” he asked.

“Been ready since you landed,” Justin said.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Obama pushed his flared cockhead into Justin’s ass at that, causing the Prime Minister to yelp out in pain.

“Shh, shh, the head is the worst part. It’ll feel good soon,” Obama said.

“I know that,” Justin said. “Just… Fill me up before I scream.”

“Filling you up is gonna make you scream,” Obama said, “but sure.” He kept sliding his cock into Justin’s tight hole, inch after inch, feeling the ring of muscle at his opening stretch more and more to accept him, his prodigious length hit the bend at the back of him, still deeper, deeper… Until all ten inches were inside.

Justin, to his credit, didn’t scream, but he was panting hard, face red, grasping the tablecloth for dear life. “Do it,” he urged.

Obama just smiled. He began to piston in and out, slowly at first, then more rapidly until he was pounding Justin so hard he couldn’t help but moan with each thrust. Their respective entourages would have no doubts about what they were doing in there, but neither man cared anymore. “You’re. So. Fucking. Tight,” Obama groaned, punctuating each word with a thrust.

“Bite me,” Justin begged.

Obama slowed down at that. “Bite you?”

“Do it. Bite me while you fuck me.” He tilted his head to the side to offer up the tender flesh between his shoulder and neck.

Obama stopped completely. “You’re the Prime Minister of Canada. People are gonna notice a love bite.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Justin said. “I want you to bite me.”

Obama grinned. “All right.” He picked up speed again and leaned down. It was a good bit of acrobatics given their position, but he was athletic enough to make it work, even though his thrusting range was limited while he was bent over. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into Justin’s skin just above his collarbone.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck,” Justin groaned. “Harder, bite me harder!”

The President bit down until he tasted blood. He pulled back and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. It came back crimson.

“Now kiss me,” Justin said.

“Bloody?”

“Bloody,” Justin confirmed.

Obama was a little confused, but he complied, his cock still sliding up and down in Justin’s guts as he did it.

Justin groaned at the taste of his own blood and suddenly came, yelling, “Oh, Barack!” as he sprayed ropes of come up onto Obama’s belly and lower chest, soaking his white dress shirt. His ass tensed with each spurt, rolling pleasure through Obama’s cock and body in turn.

Obama leaned back reflexively. “My shirt…” he muttered.

“Shit,” Justin said, panting. “I didn’t—I couldn’t…”

Obama shook his head. “Not your fault. But it’s time for _me_ to get off now… Inside you, don’t you think?”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Justin said.

Obama reached down and squeezed out the last drops of cum from Justin’s cock and spread them on his own dick. “A little extra lube,” he said. He picked up the pace again. After the sight and sensation of Justin’s orgasm it didn’t take him long to reach the edge. He roared as he came, hot come pouring out of his massive cock straight into the Prime Minister’s ass, and his belly in turn. He pulled out and collapsed in the nearest chair, breathing heavily.

“Well,” Justin said. He’d composed himself faster than Obama. “I think it’s time for lunch.”

Obama chuckled through his gulps for air. “This was quite the state visit,” he said. “I wonder if Chancellor Merkel got the same welcome.”

Justin’s eyes twinkled. “Let’s just say she’s a very loud woman.”

Obama’s jaw dropped, but Justin couldn’t stop laughing.

Obama buttoned his blazer, but there was still a visible come stain near his neck. At least it wasn’t as bad as the still-bloody bite mark on Justin’s shoulder. They’d had fun to be sure, but without some good makeup and a wardrobe change, the world would know about their fun, too.

“ _Let ‘em wonder_ ,” Justin said in his under his breath voice.

“What’s that?” Obama asked.

“Didn’t say a word,” Justin said. “Didn’t say a word.”

 


End file.
